


A Melody of Swords

by Bears_in_the_sky



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alchemy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Trauma, Dragons, Elves, F/F, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, Fantasy, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hope, Love, M/M, Magic, Multi, Mutual Pining, Other, Pining, Pirates, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Royalty, Soulmates, Swords, Swords & Sorcery, With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 06:01:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20484044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bears_in_the_sky/pseuds/Bears_in_the_sky
Summary: Volker Nytvashyra is entangled in a web of lies, power balances between royalty, and the pressure of her kingdom's fate. To save her homeland, her crown, and her family, she must stop a war. To do so she must overcome her past and harness her magic to keep everything she loves from being destroyed. While she is out defending her world, her court is crumbling from the inside out and her father is dying from a mysterious disease. Along with her best friend, her former bodyguard, and a handsome elf from a court across the sea, she must gather allies and prevent the war on her way home before it is too late.This is an original story, very loosely inspired by Throne of Glass. The main characters are all elves. Be prepared for dragons!





	A Melody of Swords

Everything was on fire.

Yet she was so, so cold.

Something had happened, but she wasn’t sure what. She had… fought?… killed?… then he had been there… then the dragons came… that had definitely happened… and her power… she had used so, so much… her whole body was on fire, the heat burning through the dried blood that caked her limp form. But she couldn’t help but shiver, feeling colder than she had for a long time. Cold and empty.

There were voices shouting around her, muffled but there. Strong arms gripped her tightly, keeping her head balanced in one large, calloused hand. The heat of her power seared around her… it must be burning whoever carried her. Feet pounded below her, the feeling of someone running, running, running… but not her feet, no, someone else was running, running, running…

Then a whoosh of air swept over her for just a moment, warmer than the cold that encased her limp form. The running sound changed from a soft, insistent padding, to a clipped, sharp beat as the running feet beneath her moved from grass to stone.

Those same strong arms lowered her into a bath of cool water, which kissed her wounds and soothed the throbbing for just a moment.

“Get her OUT!” Someone shouted clearly, as if right above her head.

Strong arms heaved her out of the water, just as her power surged again. Steam rose from the water she had just vacated, and she heard a faint bubbling. Had she not been pulled out, she would have boiled herself alive. She was placed in a second bath of water, this one slightly warmer. But seconds later, she was pulled out again, just before the tub and the water in it froze solid.

This fight, this imbalance, continued for longer than she could keep track of, and she was only aware of being dunked in tub after tub of water, each either boiling or freezing at her touch. The cool water felt so good, but the cold emptiness that gripped her would not let go. Her whole body burned, heat emanating off of her. But she was gripped in an icy cold embrace, one that froze the flame where it burned, trapping it.

She was sinking down, down, down… It was easier to just give in… give up… Her body cried for her to give up… to end the pain…

You do not bow.

The four words pounded through her brain, the four words that had kept her from dying long ago, that had saved her crown and her people, that had made her who she was.

You do not bow.

There it was again, growing more and more insistent until it overtook the raw gnawing of her power, unlocking her from the icy grip and releasing the stiff fingers of death that clenched tighter and tighter around her body as she was plunged into yet another tub of water, then yanked out moments later.

You do not bow.

You do not bow.

You do not bow.

At last she was lowered into a bath of lukewarm water, and at last it stayed that way. The hand that had supported her head tilted it gently backwards to rest on the rim of the tub. Her clothes had been stipped off. The cool water washed over her, cleaning the blood and grime from her wounds, her hair, every inch of her body that had not already been burned clean by the fire that consumed her.

A dull ache emerged, less intense than the gnawing of her power but no softer. Her wounds bled, staining the water around her, and thrice she had to be lifted up as clouds of red blossomed in the once clear water. How long she layed there she did not know. It did not matter. Pain overtook her body, filling the void that tried to reclaim her in its icy grip.

Hours later, she finally found the strength to open her eyes. Blinking up at the ceiling above her, she slowly inhaled, releasing the breath after a pause. On her left, she saw a long table cluttered with various instruments, herbs, and salves. To her right, she found an angry elven male watching protectively over her.

His golden hair brushed his shoulders, his tantalizing green eyes flecked with streaks of silver, reflecting in the dim light. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top, the collar askew and a few streaks of blood staining the white fabric. The sleeves, which had been rolled up, were blackened and charred. She could see fresh bandages wrapped around his arms and peeking through his shirt, stark against his tanned skin.

He had been the one to carry her, then.

“You’re awake.”

It wasn’t a question.

Slowly she turned her head towards him, flashing him a weak grin, and at last his name appeared in her mind.

Rolf.


End file.
